


Gouge Away

by sportivetricks (tamlane)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Butch/Femme, Cross-Generation Relationship, Explicit Language, F/F, HP Cross Gen Fest 2020, Knives, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25321225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/sportivetricks
Summary: The Weasley girl has developed a keen fascination with Millicent's woodworking shop.  Millicent can't seem to get rid of her, no matter how hard she tries.
Relationships: Millicent Bulstrode/Victoire Weasley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 27
Collections: HP Cross Gen Fest 2020





	Gouge Away

**Author's Note:**

> **Additional content note: implied veela allure**
> 
> I'm thrilled to be part of this fest! Thank you to D. for the quick and helpful beta. And many thanks to our powerhouse mod, gracerene, for all the hard work on the fest.
> 
> Full disclosure: I did a bare minimum of research into woodworking, so I kindly ask your forgiveness for any glaring inaccuracies or improbabilities on that account.
> 
> Title shamelessly lifted from the iconic Pixies song.

Fuck, it was the Weasley girl again, carrying half a tree this time. _Victoire,_ wasn't it? Weasleys always had to rub it in everyone's faces, didn't they?

To Millicent, she had become simply _the brat_.

"I brought you something," the brat said, standing just inside the doorway and shifting the load across her shoulders. A few dead leaves fell off and flitted across the dirt floor of the workshop.

Millicent sliced into the mahogany project on her worktable in a steady, rhythmic motion, paying no mind to the leaves or the brat. "I've told you, I don't—"

"Need handouts. I know. But we had some limbs down, and I thought..." The brat huffed under the weight of her load. "Well, it's a nice piece of wood."

With a sigh, Millicent stopped, knife anchored against her gloved thumb, and looked up. The brat was wearing a flannel shirt in purple and silver plaid and those jeans that looked like they'd never been washed in water. Just worn and spelled and worn and spelled until they hung and clung just so. Pink trainers. Pieces of her long, reddish-blonde hair were fixed into rolls over her forehead.

Didn't the brat just think she was _so cute_?

"It's poplar," Millicent said. "Don't use poplar for broomsticks." And with that, she returned to her rhythm.

"It's black poplar. Good for wands, isn't it?" 

Millicent let out a derisive chuckle. "Wands. Sure."

"You don't hide them as well as you think."

Millicent glanced down at the small, crude cylinders mingling with a jumble of dull gouges in her junk cabinet. She surreptitiously toed the drawer shut. "Don't know what you're on about."

The brat huffed yet again. "This thing _is_ a bit heavy, you know."

"Hmph."

"Fine. If you don't want it..."

Millicent rolled her eyes as the brat turned to maneuver the huge branch back out the door. "Fuck's sake," she said. "Don't wreck the place. Toss it on the pile there. I'll use it for firewood."

From the corner of her eye, she could see the brat hoist the branch up over her head and catch it in her elbows with a little whoosh of breath. What a show-off. She knelt with her pert arse pointed right at Millicent and carefully positioned the wood on the pile of scraps by the door. Then she rose and turned back around, wiping her hands on her jeans with a smile.

Millicent's eyes quickly returned to her work. 

"Mind if I take a look around?" the brat asked in that gratingly cheerful voice.

"Sign outside says open workshop, doesn't it?"

The brat's hands went to her pockets, making the denim sag just enough for a peek of smooth belly to show. "Funny thing, that. I've never seen any other visitors."

"You have bad timing," Millicent snapped, carving with a bit more force.

"Or maybe I have good timing," the brat mumbled as she sauntered over towards the small display of finished broomsticks awaiting charms. "Are these the latest?"

In spite of herself, Millicent paused and looked up. She _hadn't_ had any visitors for over a week, and she had just finished a prized piece. She waited, wondering, maybe even hoping....

"Is that..." The girl's hand went right to it. "It's the Green Man!" she exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. "Seriously? That's amazing! When did you finish it?" 

Millicent didn't answer, but a thrill of pride rushed through her as the girl examined the carving that had taken three weeks and a specially sourced micro V-tool to complete. With her head still bowed to her work, she watched greedily as short, pink fingernails traced the intricacies of the oak leaf beard.

"You won't get _that_ on a Nimbus," the girl said, shooting Millicent a smile over her purple plaid shoulder. "But then I never was one for speed." Her eyes skimmed over Millicent's front. "I'm more of a comfort kind of girl."

Millicent adjusted her apron with a tug. "Shocking."

The pink-tipped fingers brushed over the upright broomsticks like silent harp strings. They stopped on another, decorated only with some basic spiral work. "This one's new, too. How much are you asking for it?"

"It's not for sale," Millicent said. Not to Weasleys, anyway, no matter the price.

"Then why is it—"

"It's a workshop. Accidents happen."

The brat let it go with a shrug, moving towards a stand with roughed out models. Millicent tried to resume her carving but was, of course, immediately interrupted again. 

"What kind of wood is this?"

She looked up to find the brat moving her hand up and down a piece of pinkish-tan wood. "Cherry."

"Mmm." The brat licked her lips. "Cherry."

"It's not cheap," Millicent snapped. "Do you mind?"

"Sorry." The brat dropped her hand at once. "I don't see how I'm hurting anything, though." Her perfectly pretty face got that sulky look that was almost worse than her smile. "It doesn't crack easily, does it?"

"You might get splinters," Millicent grumbled. "Can't afford a lawsuit."

"I would never—"

" _But_ if you're determined to hang around, you could make yourself useful."

The pout morphed at once into an eager smile. "Of course. What do you need?"

Millicent nodded to another worktable. "Hand me that knife, will you?"

There were at least a dozen on the table. The brat's hand went to the largest, of course. "This one?"

"No, the short one with the lip on the back of the blade. Tobacco stained handle. No, next to the gouge. Oh, for fuck's sake—"

"This one?" the brat asked, holding up exactly the right one.

"It'll do," Millicent replied dismissively, holding out her gloved hand and impatiently beckoning with her fingers. 

Now, however, the brat had Millicent's full attention, and she clearly intended to capitalize on it. She held the knife up to the sunlight streaming in through a crack in the old windowpane, examining the blade. The sunlight hit stray hairs at her temples, making them look almost silver. 

"I've always had a thing for knives," she said.

"Oh yeah?" Millicent replied. "Who's your favourite metalsmith?"

The brat looked at Millicent with a curious expression. "Not a practical kind of thing." She advanced, running a finger over the dull edge of the knife. "More of a... _thing_ thing."

Millicent should have been worried about skin oils on the blade. She should have at least told the girl to be careful. Instead, she just watched with a quickening pulse as that finger lovingly caressed the metal. 

"Not like _your_ thing."

"My thing?" Millicent repeated in a daze. She was starting to feel funny, like her brain was all jumbled. Her outreached hand slowly lowered, her eyes fixed on that finger. Warmth flooded her... not exactly a lusty kind of warmth, but a feeling like she would do anything, _anything_...

"An artisan thing," the girl said. "I _wish_ I could do what you do."

Millicent shook her head to clear it, annoyed. "It's not magic," she spat. "It's just work. Anybody could do it with the right tools and some patience."

The brat laughed, a tinkling sound that nearly drew Millicent back in. "Oh yeah, you're a _paragon_ of patience."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The laughter ceased, and the sulky look returned. The warmth ebbed away. "I've been coming to this workshop for months now."

"And?"

"And you're an arse to me every time."

"So?"

The knife was at the brat's side now, the smooth wooden handle clasped loosely in her hand. "So are you a garden variety arse? Or are you just an arse to me?"

Millicent's jaw tightened. She went back to her work, but the blade got caught. She cursed at the unintentional gouge she'd made and went easier. "I guess that's a new and exciting experience for you, huh?"

"New, sure. I'm used to some fawning. Head Girl, 10 O.W.L.s. Daughter of a Triwizard Champion and a famous curse-breaker, blah blah blah."

Millicent sneered. "My heart bleeds for you."

"I wouldn't mind the novelty. If it were more exciting."

Millicent slowly sliced her way around the gouge. "You kids. Gotta be entertained all the time, don't you?"

"Not all the time. You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

There was a long pause, filled only by the sound of blade on wood and the gentle brush of a gloved finger pushing away shavings.

"Is it just me?" the brat asked quietly.

Millicent set her knife down with a clunk. She grabbed the edge of the worktable with both hands, avoiding the brat's eyes. "Answer _me_ a question first, yeah? Are you a garden variety—" Millicent bit down over the word _tease_. "—flirt? Is this what you do? Go around bothering people at work, throwing around your weirdo...."

"My weirdo _what_?" 

"You _know_ what. Bored, is that it? Trying to get attention anywhere you can? Or...." Millicent pressed her lips together.

There was another clunk of wood on wood. Millicent glanced over to find the requested knife lying on the table.

"No. That's just for you."

Millicent wanted so badly to look at her, to read her eyes, to see if it was true. Instead, she stared blankly at the mahogany.

"Enjoy the firewood."

The girl went for the door.

Millicent grabbed her wand with a shaky hand. She pointed it at the door. She flicked her wrist with all she had, whispered _Colloportus_ , and it slammed right in the girl's face, so hard that it shook the scrap pile next to it.

The girl jumped and then went still. She turned slowly around, as wide-eyed as Millicent. Heat flared in the room as though the fire had gotten loose and started torching her inventory. Millicent looked wildly over her shoulder to check. It hadn't. It was just... hot. 

She looked back up, sweat beading along her hairline. She was still holding her wand. She dropped it. She had no idea why she'd cast that spell or what to do now. But the girl...

_Victoire._

Victoire moved towards her as though she was floating.

Victoire was tall. Millicent had never realized how tall until she was backed against her own workbench, looking up into pale blue eyes and feeling that mind-jumbling sensation again.

"You're not here for a broomstick," Millicent said, ridiculously.

Victoire grabbed Millicent by the back of the head, fingers digging roughly into her short hair. "No," she replied in a breathy, otherworldly voice. "Definitely not."

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the 2020 Harry Potter Cross Gen Fest. The author will be revealed at the end of August.


End file.
